


Vanishing Act

by someactionshavenoend



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Chance Meetings, Gen, POV Frank Castle, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someactionshavenoend/pseuds/someactionshavenoend
Summary: The Punisher (off-duty) meets the Winter Soldier (former). The Punisher (off-duty) tries to help the Winter Soldier (former). It might actually work.Long story short, Barnes is in New York for reasons only known to him, and since there's only so much square footage of the city that doesn't have some sort of vigilante looking out for it, he runs into Frank Castle. Or Frank Castle runs into him. Either way.





	1. In A Dark Alley

Look, Frank lives in what a more up to date person would call a fuckin’ murder basement, with all his guns and tech and stuff like that. And as well stocked as it is, because he’s a paranoid bastard, he’s gotta go to the store sometimes. Not really a surprise there. It does make it a little harder when he’s on and off everyone’s watchlist (read: shitlist) every other week (or day, depending on what shit he’s gotten into), but he manages. There’s something universal about how little the employees of little corner stores give a shit, especially when it’s almost 3am. Frank’s though he could slam down just about anything and the kid at the one he’s currently at would just blink at it and scan it. Maybe not a gun. The kid’s probably had one of those pulled on him before, given the neighborhood. But anyway. He barely gets a glance, just hands over the money, takes his shit and leaves. 

No one’s after him tonight, but Frank’s always on edge, so of course he hears the rustling in the alley. It’s the barest thing, but he’s trained. And paranoid. His hand’s on his knife without even having to think about. He’s still got his bag in hand, because no one’s rushed him yet, and also because cans are able to be used as a weapon. He approaches, wondering if it’s Red for a moment. But no, that asshole would either be thrashing ‘cause of an injury or would’ve popped out to lecture him on, fuck if Frank knows, maybe his fuckin’ diet. So it’s probably not him. 

He approaches, ready to strike. Turns out it’s some homeless guy. That’s fine - probably not gonna stab him, so he’s not gonna disturb his peace - but this guy makes no fucking noise when he moves, and he does, takes a step back when Frank actually looks down the alley. He wouldn’t’ve seen the guy if he wasn’t looking, wasn’t listening out for that sorta thing. So yeah, maybe not just some homeless guy. 

“Hey.” He calls down into the alley, deciding to just get this started if it’s gonna have to start. “What’s goin’ on?” It’s better than  _ what the fuck’re you up to,  _ which is really what he means. But Frank’s not gonna ask someone if they’re just about to come and shoot him. 

Frank’s also not entirely sure he can still see the guy. Like, he saw a shadow at one point,  _ maybe,  _ but all he’s seeing is relative blackness down there. It should be noted that Frank doesn’t go looking for trouble. Most of the time. This is one of those times where he really doesn’t want to get into a big fucking fight. He just wanted to get dinner for the next week and get home to clean his guns and maybe sleep a little. But here he fucking is, so now he’s gotta deal with this. “Come where I can see you and we can figure this shit out.” Sure, his tone isn’t exactly calming, but he’s on edge. 

The alley seems contemplative. He doesn’t actually know, because he can’t see the guy hardly at all, much less his face. He thinks something shifts, though, and maybe they’re about to get somewhere -

And then Frank’s up against the wall of the alley, bricks digging into his back, an arm that feels impossibly strong up against his neck, and there’s a guy snarling something in what he thinks might be Russian in his face. He kicks and he struggles, but his knife is gone and his bag of cans is gone and he comes to the realization that he’s way fucking out of his depth. 

“Hey asshole,” he grits out, as his windpipe’s starting to be crushed. “‘F you want answers, you’re gonna have to try a language I actually get.” It’s not that Frank tries to piss people off. He’s just direct. Sure, sometimes he does try to piss people off, but this isn’t one of those times. He just wants some fucking answers himself. 

The guy, who’s got long hair, but it’s not even a disadvantage because Frank can’t fucking move to grab it, frowns a little, which confuses Frank. Can’t really comment on it, because he’s not sure this guy isn’t some super powered asshole, given that arm strength. This should be Red’s job, but it’s just not Frank’s fuckin’ night, now is it?

“Are you HYDRA?” 

Well, Frank’s definitely out of his depth here. His thing’s organized crime, not organized fuckin’ chaos.

“No, I’m fuckin’ not.” Christ, mistaken identity sure is a bitch. He’s not sure if the guy believes it, but he’s not dead yet, so Frank’ll take that chance. 

“How’d you find me?”

It’s hard to look incredulous in a situation like this, but Frank would like to think that he manages to get there. “What the fuck? I’m just walkin’ home from the store and I hear some shit in the alley. I been jumped before, so I’m cautious about it, and that gets us up to right now. I’m not lookin’ for you. I don’t even know who the fuck you are, and I really don’t care.”

“Prove it.”

Frank is at the end of his rope here. “I’m the Punisher, asshole. If you’re all worried about shit like what went down in DC, then you probably oughta be reading the newspapers. My face was all over ‘em for a bit. I don’t know what else you want from me and I think we both know that torture ain’t gonna do much for either of us.”   
  


The guy frowns again, like he’s confused. But he steps back, finally. So far back that he’s definitely out of range when Frank pulls out another knife. 

“I believe you,” the guy says, frown lingering. “I won’t kill you.” His voice sounds scratchy, now that he’s not snarling. 

Well thank god for that. Frank rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for the kind gesture. Appreciate it. Can I go?” He’s pretty sure asking that question makes him sound like a huffy teenage girl, but he’s really not in the mood to get jerked around like this. 

The guy nods. “This is New York?” 

Fuckin’ - well now Frank’s really not sure what he’s stumbled into. “Yeah. About Hell’s Kitchen, if that rings a bell.” He’s confused on several levels now - Frank said ‘Punisher’ which should have been an alarm bell, and now the guy doesn’t know where the fuck he is? Jesus. He’s gonna have to deal with this now. “You tryin’ to get somewhere? Look, I can get you a cab or something.”

The guy shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t need that. It was just - changed.”

Maybe Frank knows how to deal with this, actually. He’s got his suspicions, and maybe they aren’t spot on, but he might be able to help with this. He forces his stance into something more relaxed. “Just got out? How long’s it been?” he asks. 

The guy looks nervous at the question. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, just got out.” His eyes dart a little. “Been a while.” 

Frank can work with this. “I was in the Marines,” he says. “I didn’t really get out the normal way, but I know a guy who did. He helps out vets with stuff, if they’ve got problems. Never gave me up to the cops, if you’re worried about that.” There’s the whole ‘danger to yourself or others’ thing, but Frank’s not gonna mention that right now. This guy’s real twitchy, and he’s pretty sure he just needs a face that’s a little friendlier for starters. 

The guy twitches, and Frank thinks it might be a flinch. 

“Army,” he says. “Still want to help?”

“Hey, I don’t discriminate, ‘specially not when you already got so much against you.” He thinks the guy might smile just a little at that. “I’ll give you the address. Ask for Curt, tell him Frank sent you. He’s got group meetings at nine, but if you get there half an hour early, you can probably catch him alone, if that’s more your style.” He’s pretty sure that’ll be the case. Frank rattles off the address. 

“Alright,” the guy says. “I’ll try.”

“All you can do,” Frank tells him, and makes the mistake of not keeping his eyes on the guy. He’s gone in a fucking blink, and Frank’s left standing like an idiot in an alleyway. Jesus fuck. He stays listening for a little while, but then finds his bag, the white plastic standing out in the darkness. He doesn’t think he’s getting his original knife back, which is a fuckin’ shame, but what can you do when some fuckin’ special ops guy jumps you like that.


	2. In A Brightly Lit Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

“You wanna let me know why the fuck you sent the fucking DC metal arm guy to me?” Curt sounds ruffled. “I walk into the basement this morning and this guy’s just sitting on a chair. Says you sent him. Jesus, Frank, what the fuck did you get into?”

Frank guesses this explains some things. “Seemed like you could help him better’n me.”

Curt makes some exasperated noise over the line. 

“I didn’t know who he was at the time,” Frank explains. “Just seemed like he needed someone kinda stable who knew how to talk about things.”

“I don’t even want to know. I mean you’re alive, so I guess that’s good, but fucking - only you, Frank.”

“How’d you even find out who he was, anyway?”

“I watch the news, Frank. There was this clip of him they played, real early on, before anyone knew what the fuck was happening. And I know a guy in DC who worked for SHIELD, before Captain fucking America blew it all to shit. So I remembered the face, remembered the metal fucking arm.”   
  


“I watch the news too,” Frank grits out. Should have paid better attention, clearly. “I didn’t see a metal arm last night, just some fucked up kid who hadn’t been back long enough to know the lay of the land.”

“You’re a fuckin’ bleeding heart, Frank. I got to see the arm nice and up close this morning, thanks for the fucking warning about that, man. Well - his hand at least. He asked about me, and I figured I might as well share. When he found about my shit, he took his hand out of his pocket for a second, didn’t say anything, then put it back. I don’t know what it was about, but I mean, honestly? You’re right. I asked him how old he was. Took a second, but he said he thinks he’s 26 or 27.”

Frank curses at that. 

“Yeah. He’s young, and from what he was willing to tell me, he’s been through a lot more than he should have. Asked some questions, I answered. He left eventually. Don’t know what he’s gonna do, but that’s what I got. You know all those leaked files that everyone’s been talking about?”

Frank grunts a yes.

“If you really wanted to spend some quality time with ‘em, I bet you, you’re gonna find him.”

“I’m not gonna. Seemed like he was running. I don’t think he’s gonna be a problem for me. Kid probably needs his own time to figure his shit out. Thanks for seein’ him, Curt.”

“Yeah, you don’t ever give me a choice, do you?”   
  


“You’d’a seen him anyway and you know it.”

The conversation shifts away from the man who was James ‘Bucky’ Barnes and Frank doesn’t go diving deeper into the matter. He’s got his own problems to deal with.

* * *

“Hey.”

Frank manages not to startle, not to jam a fucking knife or gun into the guy who’s suddenly stood next to him in the store. 

“Sorry.”

Frank recognizes that voice - or maybe he recognizes the long hair. Looks like it’s been washed recently, too. 

“Hey, man. Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry,” Bucky Barnes says again. “I got your knife.”

Frank blinks, looking around the store to see if anyone’s watching. “What?”

“I took your knife when I restrained you in that alley. I have it for you.”

Frank really doesn’t fucking know what to say. “Thanks, man. Nice of you.” Somehow he manages. 

“There’s cameras here,” Bucky says casually. “But they don’t see this aisle real well. Here.” 

And then Frank’s got a knife in his basket. Jesus. “Thanks,” he says again, still a little taken off guard. 

“Thanks for sending me to your friend,” Bucky Barnes says. “He helped. And then I found other people and they helped. Things’re better. I live here now, and I figured I should give you your shit back and thank you. It’s a nice knife.”

“Yeah, it sure is. Glad to hear things’re lookin’ up for you, kid. You live around here?” He’s gotta check about these things, because if anyone else starts runnin’ around at night, there’s gonna be traffic jams. 

Barnes snorts. “Nah, I felt like if I wanted to get stabbed, I’d do it on my own turf.”

“Where you from, kid? Before I gotta stab you on principle.”

Barnes grins at that, and Frank feels like yeah, things are probably lookin’ up for the guy. 

“Brooklyn.”

“Knew there was somethin’ off about you,” Frank replies. And then to answer the question that’s probably coming next, he continues, “Queens, originally. Ended up here somehow.”

“Oh, like you can talk. And quit calling me kid,” Barnes says, the grin coming back. “I’m almost one hundred fuckin’ years old. Where’s your fuckin’ respect?”

“You lost that the minute you told me you were Army,” Frank shoots back. He likes the guy, even though he’s real fuckin’ aware of what he’s done and what he could do. But it’s not like Frank’s got much moral highground. And Barnes seems relatively stable. 

Barnes laughs. It’s a soft huff of a thing, but it’s a laugh. “Oh, fuck you. Like you can talk about being smarter than me.”

Frank gives one of those noncommittal shrugs. “Hey, I’m just tellin’ you the truth.”

Barnes seems to sober up a little bit. “Hey, I know you’re wanted and all, but if I wanted to find you and shit, you got somewhere I can show up where it’s not in the middle of a store. My friends are nice and all, but Steve’s kinda a mother hen and Sam’s nice but they’re all I got, and I mean, you can tell me to fuck off or whatever, but -”

Frank had forgotten that Barnes is just some kid who just got back from brainwashing and torture. “You askin’ me to be friends?” he cuts in. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Barnes isn’t really looking at him anymore, like he’s nervous. 

“I got a phone you can call.” Frank should warn him that nothing good comes from being close with him, but honestly, he’s pretty sure Barnes can handle himself. “Or text. You ever wanna drink with the better men, let me know, and me and Curt can show you how it’s done. But I ain’t having any vigilantes droppin’ in on me, so tell your buddy Steve if he wants to show up, he does it as a civilian.” Because Frank knows one of those names, and he’s hoping he doesn’t get drop-kicked by Captain America for anything he’s done. 

Barnes looks fuckin’ relieved, doesn’t even react to Frank’s shitty joke. “Yeah, okay.” He looks shy, which seems off on a guy who, while shorter, has crazy muscle mass, like he could crush throats with his flesh arm and not just the shiny one. “Thanks. I think you were the first person who helped me that I really remembered. I’m getting out of it all. Don’t really want to run the risk of doing something stupid. But you ever need help, I might as well pay you back.”

“What I do’s illegal,” Frank points out.

Barnes shrugs. “Yeah. But it makes sense, I think. Makes more sense than what I’ve done.”

That’s probably true. “Yeah, I’ll let you know,” Frank says. “You got a phone?”

Barnes pulls one out - it’s old and scratched, but Frank guesses that it’s easier to type with metal fingers when there’s actual buttons. He puts his number in, hands it back. “You’re looking better,” he tells the guy. “Glad you got all the way out.”

A nod. “I’m getting there. Thanks. See ya.”

This time, he actually sees Barnes walk out of the store, even if Frank’s sure the man could have pulled his disappearing act, even under the bright fluorescent lights. And if that’s not real proof that things are changing, he doesn’t know what is. Maybe he should call Curtis, give him the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought that I'd be writing just a nice little oneshot, but no, this happened as well. Oh well. I'm happy with it and that's just how it is.  
> There's probably inaccuracies, but I super don't care. Though I will note that I'm operating on a very loose sense of canon, given that Bucky is following MCU canon up to Winter Soldier and then turning into my character who does as I please after and that Frank is technically following the netflix canon, but only sort of. However, you may be wondering why the fuck Frank thinks he's taller than Bucky, when Seb Stan is taller than Jon Bernthal. This is because I used their heights from Marvel (comics) wiki because I was double-checking Frank's birthplace there, so I figured I might as well use that information. Canon is my sandbox and this work is sufficiently transformative to avoid copyright violations so middle fingers up at sticking to one specific canon. Idk where Frank's from in the show. He might still be from Queens, but I'm slightly more familiar with the Punisher comics, and I absolutely needed them to shitalk each other.  
> I'm on tumblr at someactionshavenoend.


End file.
